


Open season on my heart

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (At least so far), Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit Sex, Omega Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lance is trying to get back into the groove of things. Be normal. Be adjusted. Too bad this new guy Keith is messing that all up. (Just kidding -- Lance has been messing up plenty all on his own for ages.)Or: where Lance is fresh off a personal crisis, his friends and family are trying to be as supportive as they can, Keith's got him in over his head with strange new feelings, and then there's heats to deal with. Lance is tired.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you watch the last season of voltron a year late, and get sentimental. I'm just a voltron positivity machine, so don't come at me with discourse or critiques, okay? I had a fun 2 years (that stretched over into 2019 because being a working adult is hard), so I'm ready to just indulge in fannish.
> 
> up front warning now: this contains abo tropes and an often mentioned side pairing of shiro/allura/lotor (we were told we could ascribe to any identity to shiro that doesn't dismiss his mlm tendencies, and as a mega queer person attracted to everyone, I can't not make him fall in love with everyone. I love my bi space dad. also, the first ship I ever became even remotely interested in within voltron was between my two favorite characters shiro and allura at the tail end of s1 and I've just been getting more invested ever since. promise I'm not An Evil Cis Het Trying To Take Away Representation, but it warrants a warning nonetheless -- probably also because *MY* ot3 is *DIFFERENT*... and includes lotor. *insert me trying to hastily explain that lotor did a lot wrong, but I still love him*)
> 
> my silly joking tone aside, here are some important warnings: we talk about mental illness and institutionalization in this, so that's fun. so fun. this is a happy story though, in the end! so I hope you enjoy this little journey of a fic with me! I accidentally started writing it and it's already ruining my life.

Lance figured this all hadn’t boded well, when he was a week out from check out and he went on pre-heat. Achy joints, phantom whooshes of arousal that were here and gone in an instant, a gradual spike in the scent of his pheromones... he was due to start heat real soon, and he knew it. And he knew he was gonna be on the outside when it happened -- and that scared him. That was like cranking up the difficulty of everything right away, and Lance hadn’t even gotten a chance to do a practice run.

But whatever. It was going to be what it was going to be. He made his peace with that now.

So on the day of -- of both check out and when he was likely going to start heat -- he was climbing into his older sister Veronica's car, rolling his eyes at her girlfriend raising her eyebrows at the heat stench clinging to him while Veronica shoved his two duffel bags of personal effects in the trunk.

"Could do with a little more suppressants, huh?" Her girlfriend -- what was it, Acxa or something? -- drawled out, the exact moment Veronica slid back into the driver's seat. 

"Leave him alone," Veronica said with a light laugh, clearly not finding Acxa’s words ill-intentioned. "These centers usually aren't too big on over-doing suppressants, so you only get the bare minimum at the last possible second."

She was right. That was basically what it boiled down to, since getting medication levels right for being fucking _crazy_ were a bigger concern here. Veronica knew all that because Lance was no stranger to being institutionalized, so they’d gone through this song and dance before. Third time was the charm, Lance had joked with his in-house therapist, while secretly believing that he still wasn't getting any better, and maybe that was a sign. 

Or maybe he just _sucked_. Like, as a person. He wasn’t too keen on thinking about it too deeply though, now that he’d been cleared to leave, ready or not. Cured or not. 

"Har har," he mumbled flatly, staring out the window as he addressed Acxa’s original joke -- if that’s what it was supposed to have been. "Sorry I'm making your car smell like cotton candy and sugar plums or whatever." He didn't actually smell like those specific things, but omegas smelled sweet. Betas smelled clean and crisp and citrusy. Alphas smelled woodsy and nature-like. With Acxa and Veronica both being alphas, everything they owned smelled like campfires and tree bark or some shit.

And, Lance thought in mounting aimless aggravation, wasn’t that annoying? All that musk and nature? Leave it to Veronica to want to shack up with another alpha. And never mind the smell, what about the personalities? Wasn't that just too much bossiness and not enough impulse control between the two of them? But Lance then caught himself, realizing he was thinking unjustified, mean things about his sister and her significant other.

He immediately felt bad. _‘You wouldn't like someone saying you're too sensitive and emotional, would you?’_ he reminded himself sternly. And no, he wouldn’t -- not even when that was already a thing he was easily proving, a stereotype personified. “Sorry,” he apologized again, but not for anything the other two would know about. But Lance would know. And that was important.

"It's not actually a problem, little bro," Veronica dismissed gently. "Though, are you going to be able to make it to your welcome home outing with your friends?"

Lance nodded sullenly. He’d already been thinking about that, a solution to his pre-heat distinctly edging its way into heat. The way that was making him jittery and freaked out. He already had an idea, because there was an old and familiar solution that would work. Was proven to work in the past, and that no one else needed to know about (because no one else was going to like it, probably).

There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to do it. He was a free man, no daily schedule, no orderlies, no time out rooms he could hide in to catch his breath when the world felt like too much. He was going to have to take matters concerning his life and life decisions into his own hands from now on, and this was the start of it.  
  
Besides, he really did want to enjoy meeting up with the others -- and he couldn’t do that if he was a squirmy, anxious mess. So, he had a stop he was going to have to make first, before the outing. It was still early, but the welcome home pub meet-up (simply because their local place had some of the best cheap food) was much later tonight. Plus, normal adults worked, so he’d have to wait until the late afternoon, anyway.

Listen, if he was going to fall back into old habits, he might as well choose the least maladaptive one of them all. "I'm good," he told Veronica, looking towards her and meeting her eyes in the rear view mirror, trying to smile as lively as he could manage. He wanted to reassure her. Again: he and his family had done this song and dance before. They were worried about him, and he didn’t want him struggling to function to be the first impression following this particular release. Not again. "Hey, thanks for coming to pick me up."

"No problem," she told him sincerely, smiling back and looking relieved that at the very least he could smile. But of course he could. He was a people person. It was all never so bad, never so up in the front of his mind, only thing he could focus on, when he was around people.

There was something lonely about that. But it couldn’t be helped.

* * *

Nyma was not hard to find. They hadn't talked in months, which wasn't all that rare normally, but she was still easy to track down with a simple text and a little patience.

She didn't seem to know he was fresh out of institutionalization, thanks to the dead air between them, which was heavily preferred. He wasn’t ashamed of this latest stint in the psych ward slash halfway house he’d been biding his time at, but other people knowing usually made them act strangely. And it was important that Nyma be her usual, charming self right now.

Sure, Lance was fresh out of psych eval, and this probably wasn’t the healthiest or most mentally sound thing he could do. But to Lance, the more important thing here was how Nyma knew precisely what was up when Lance shot her a text saying _'pre-heat. you game?'_, and she replied on her lunch break with, _'cool, my place, 5pm, okay?'_ while Lance was eating a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup in his grandma’s kitchen. And okay it was. 

It was also scummy. There was no doubt about that, when he was pretty much borderline pre-heat by now, and by five would probably be straight up in heat, but he and Nyma would deal with it fine. They had before. 

And it was also pretty scummy of him, that she didn’t know where he’d been lately, and that he wasn’t planning on telling her. He was trying to be as considerate as he could about it without outright telling her, though. Usually, he'd reach out to her by joking (but not joking) with something like, _'pre-heat and sad. wanna hold my hand and tell me I’m pretty so I don’t cry on you?'_ \-- because yeah. Heats made him antsy and anxious and vaguely sad, deep down inside. Or rather, they exacerbated that broken part within him. But no one wanted to hear that from someone hours out of monitored care. And Lance didn't want to be readmitted in record time. 

None of that really mattered, once he met Nyma at her apartment and she pulled him through the door with a laugh and a murmured, "Oooh, someone’s scent-y," to which Lance had to grin. Nyma was beautiful and wonderful and it was nice to have her playfully tease him, then reel him in for a kiss.

They'd been each other's go to for a while already, so it wasn't like it was difficult for her to drag him into bed -- her sheets and the way they felt and smelled nearly surreal after months of hospital sheets washed in standard hypoallergenic detergent -- and make quick work of his needs.  
  
"Such a cute little omega," she teased, pressing him down into the mattress and carefully peeling off his boxer briefs, going straight for the gold. "You're really always the sweetest thing."

Nyma was always good for that. Being kind. Saying something that should have sounded like an insult from anyone else, and somehow making it an endearment. She was on board with being a friend with benefits that got it: that this wasn’t about being in love or anything, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be fun and intimate. Lance always got what he needed from this, and things in his head seemed to shut up for a little bit, afterwards. It helped. This helped, and he wasn’t going to question why.

Nyma had always been a good sport -- back when Lance had first asked her for this, for help taking off the edge of heat, he’d been overly needy. He’d been coming to see her every month for each and every heat, and she'd just gone with it with little complaint. He always made sure to return the favor whenever she asked him to do the same, but she was a beta and only had heats every three months. It just wasn't the same, and Lance had felt bad about it, eventually. Hence, why it was common that the two of them wouldn't talk for months at a time nowadays. He was better at giving her space, and holding off unless he really needed it.

And man, did he really need it today. He shivered under her touch, worries melting away in the sensations of the moment, one minute sliding into the next, five minutes quickly slipping into fifteen. Lance could barely keep up, as Nyma swept gentle touches all along and throughout his body.

"Doing good?" Nyma asked softly, carefully fingering Lance open with two fingers. "You're awfully wet for pre-heat..."

Lance blinked through the arousal and the satisfaction of Nyma’s long, slender fingers reaching slow and deep into him -- and guiltily remembered his white lie. Some of that boneless contentment went away, and the empty static left behind was quickly filled in by the very worry he was trying to forget about. "Ah -- maybe I’m starting to go into heat?" 

Nyma made a noise of agreement. "Yeah, maybe, 'cuz you’re soaked. You need to be more careful with that. You smell good, though."  
  
Lance laughed -- and that laugh trailed into a gasp, as she worked in a third finger.

* * *

Nyma got him off in record time. Probably a combination of heat and being pretty abstinent during his stay at the center. Still, now that he was thinking about how he was barely going to have time to shower between now and needing to head out to the bar his friends were meeting at, it wasn't unwelcomed. 

Anyway, he hadn’t needed to be coddled and cuddled and babied for hours on end or anything. He had just needed to take the edge off the anxiety he had come to associate with heat. And mission accomplished -- it'd done wonders, hooking up with Nyma like old times. Now he wouldn't be so cranky and achy for a little while. Hopefully the rest of the night, if he was lucky.

Lance was busy thinking about these things and considering the logistics of riding his bike halfway across town, all while collecting his clothes to go duck in Nyma's bathroom -- so he didn't fully notice or consider her picking up her phone and scrolling through it idly where she was lounging on her bed.

He was headed out the bedroom door when she swore sharply and called out to him. "_Lance_." 

He stopped in his tracks and looked back at her, unsure what that tone was supposed to mean. "What?" She seemed upset, and he wasn’t sure why. He'd gotten her off too, ever the gentleman, even in the middle of being on heat (and eternally depressed, apparently). "Where's the fire? What’s the emergency? What?" 

She puffed out her cheeks and glared at him, looking actually seriously angry for a moment. But then she seemed to think better of it and deflated, sighing and running her hand over her face. "Veronica texted me, looking for you. You were in a psych ward all summer? What the hell?"

Lance froze and gulped nervously. Ah. Yes.

"Sort of," he admitted, because well, yeah. "I got out recently, though. All better." He was trying to stay vague, because it would probably be disturbing to know you just fucked someone who hadn't even fully reintegrated into society, technically. She was the first non-family member he’d seen so far, not counting the minimal interactions with Acxa. And sex with an old friend was vastly different from two failed conversation attempts at small talk and arguing briefly about radio choices on the ride home.

"Recently?" Nyma sounded unimpressed and disappointed. "Veronica says she picked you up this morning at eleven AM."

...Okay. So that was out in the open too, huh? "Sorry, Nyeems," he cajoled softly, pulling out all the stops with the nickname. "I just... I needed this."

She huffed in affront, but ultimately looked sympathetic. "God, whatever, fine. Glad I could help. Just... take care of yourself, Lance McClain. You're fresh back out here in the real world."

Lance appreciated the sentiment and the way she didn't start lecturing him or anything about his poor life decisions. "Thanks, Nyma." He wasn't too sure if he was going to do well with the whole taking care of himself thing, but it was nice of her to say it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters are going to generally vary in length from about 1.5k to 3.5k, I’m guessing! I'm trying to low ball it and get short though consistent-ish chapters out every 3 weeks, max. I’ll do my best! please do try to be understanding if we have a few schedule slips, though. *eyes my work schedule and all the fall and winter conferences coming up that I have to present for* *this is fine meme.jpeg*
> 
> eta (added post chapter 5 fyi!): 2020 has been hellish, and I am a liar! I'll let you all know when I'm back and on an update schedule, though.

Lance was both loving and hating everything, sitting in a booth with his friends, surrounded by the general bustle of the pub. He was happy to see everyone, happy to be welcomed back and have everyone excitedly updating him on life things he missed, both big and small -- but it was also awful. In this strange brand of masochism, this was awful.

There was so much he’d _missed_. And logically, rationally, he understood that -- months had passed and life kept being lived even in his absence. But hearing about Pidge's new working internship at the big tech company she’d been vying for, hearing how Hunk was now apprenticing with some hot-shot chef because of the connections he'd made at his last hotel concierge job, seeing Shiro and Allura comfortably drag on some awful so-unfunny-it's-kinda-funny inside joke with Lotor, who was sandwiched comfortably between them as he sipped on a pink hard lemonade... It was like Lance was a stranger in their lives now. He was seeing a before and an after without any idea of the in-between, when usually he knew every little thing about them.

He could distract himself from the way the irrational part of him wanted to sulk by focusing on that last bit though -- Shiro and Allura... and Lotor? It was certainly a surprise to him. Even though Shiro had mostly dated men in the past, for as long as Lance had known him, Shiro and Allura being a thing made sense. Neither of them had ever been interested in labels beyond ‘not straight’, and in the past several years the two of them had been all but official: not dating anyone, spending all their downtime together attached at the hip, and suspiciously both always going MIA around the times of either of their heats.

It’d really only been a matter of time, and Lance was only sad he’d missed the official announcement of them moving in together as a couple. (“We still haven’t had the housewarming party,” Allura assured him when he said that. “You’ll be more than welcomed to come to that, once we plan it.”).

Lotor, though? Last Lance remembered, he and Allura had a weird, tangible tension to everything they did, ever since they met through being assigned to the same drugstore pharmacy a year and a half ago. It wasn’t a bad tension, but Lance certainly got tired being around it too much, emotional empath that he was. The two of them would get caught up in strange pharmacy jargon-laden conversations turned arguments, all passionate and weirdly flirty. 

Lance generally would zone out in self-defense when it happened, trying to ignore them, but thinking back on it, he realized Shiro would always watch them, invested. He was always somewhat entertained by it, chin resting in hand, seeming satisfied while watching them banter.

Before, Lance would have chalked that up to him getting to see Allura in her element, verbally sparring with someone who could match her wits in the field she loved. Now, Lance was wondering at what point that had given way to something else entirely. Well, at least their triad had passion and support going for it, in whatever weird iterations it apparently needed. Lance still didn’t know what to make of Lotor, but everyone else seemed on board, and that was enough for him.

Really, Lance wasn't actually mad at it. In fact, currently he was snorting into his soda between bites of his blooming onion appetizer, because Shiro's dad jokes being balanced out by Allura's genuine if not endeared amusement and Lotor's flat exasperation was kind of funny. And Lotor, who Lance always remembered as being a little too biting at times for Lance's tastes, seemed smoothed down at the edges between Allura's self-assuredness and Shiro's general nonchalance.

Lotor was a little like Pidge, with how he was all deadpan snark and dry humor but still willing to play along in his own way. Pidge was more fun and more prone to silliness and Lance of course liked her more (knew her better, too), but he could see it -- the way Lotor fit in among their group of friends. It was just new. A new thing he'd totally missed while being absent from the world.

But speaking of things that were missed -- Hunk had very much _not_ missed that Lance was fresh off a hook up. It was obvious in the way he kept shooting Lance little glances of disbelief, shaking his head to himself.

It wasn’t all that much of a shock that Hunk had noticed, even if Lance had been hoping to fly more under the radar with this. Hunk was more sensitive to smells than most, something he used to his advantage in his passion for cooking. And pheromones weren't so easily washed away with soap and water and some liberal sprays of perfume; they could only be masked and then made harder to notice in big public settings, like this pub. Also, more generally, people might not pick up on it right away if they didn’t usually think twice about that sort of thing. So, Lance’s attempts were enough to fool most of his present company, but of course Hunk had noticed.

Beyond the nearly imperceptible head shaking, though, he hadn't said anything so far. At most, he'd frowned at Lance for a while in a way that promised a talk later, but that was it. Lance was further still completely unsurprised by this. He knew Hunk pretty well, being best friends and all, and there was nothing more unlike Hunk than intentionally embarrassing or shaming someone in front of an audience. Lance especially. Lance, right now, in this place of his life, especially.

So Lance was trying not to think preemptively about what Hunk might want to talk about. He wondered if Hunk’s sense of smell was sharp enough to pick up on whose scent precisely it was, all stark citron and mint. Did he know it was Nyma’s? Did he at least recognize that it was the same person Lance usually sought out? Lance would never ask these questions, but he figured the answers, and the circumstances they implied, would affect however it was Hunk decided to approach things.

"Sucks you went on today," Pidge lamented, reaching across the table to steal a petal of onion off Lance's plate and popping it into her mouth, crunching heartily. "You feeling okay, Candy Shop? Think you'll be up to go somewhere cool with me tomorrow? ‘Cuz I got some _plans_."

Lance laughed. Pidge loved to call him weird things all the time. He'd trade names back with her usually, and figured he'd play along like normal. "I'll probably feel better than you tomorrow, Pine Needles," he teased, eyeing her pint of beer meaningfully. He was out of practice, so the nickname was a little more on the nose than usual, but they were all friends here (sort of -- counting Lotor, if he counted), so it was okay. "Wish I could hang out, but the family might want me to...”

Show his face. Keep up appearances. Reassure them that this time was different and he wasn’t being reclusive in his own roundabout way. He couldn’t fault them for the concern, but it also solidified Lance’s own fears about himself, which wasn't helpful. He settled for a shrug to convey all that. “Yeah, I don’t know. Tomorrow's probably no good, I think."

Pidge made a soft noise in the back of her throat and let her gaze fall down to the table top. She swirled her drink with her straw -- because leave it to Pidge to sip her way through excessive pints of beer with a curly straw. The usually entertaining imagery was made less so by her sudden quiet introspection. "Oh. Right. Sometimes -- I mean, I forget that things didn't just reset back to normal. Makes sense they want to spend time with you."

"God, do they ever. I think they're planning a party for me next month or something," Lance admitted, scrunching up his nose and pushing his plate closer to Pidge in case more of his food might cheer her up. “So, for now they’re trying to let me acclimate and settle back in before inviting everyone and their mother over to gawk at, like, the boy who lived."

This was meant to be a joke. Something Lance mostly said without thinking about, not beyond, _'There's gotta be humor somewhere in this, there has to be some way I can put this that’s dumb and worth a laugh.'_ And he was thinking more about the Harry Potter reference of it rather than any other implication --

But Hunk gave a start and knocked over his complicated multicolored cocktail, face shocked and grave. In fact, everyone's expression went some version of uncomfortably horrified. Even Lotor's continually bemused expression went somewhat flat, eyes wary -- and maybe that was his version of uncomfortable, too.

Immediately, Lance wasn't sure what to do. Should he apologize? That felt weird. Should he excuse himself? But that was weird, _too_. There were no non-weird actions here -- besides not having freaked everyone out in the first place. Dammit.

But it was Allura to the rescue. Or the best anyone could hope for in this situation, anyway. "Maybe _don't_ talk like that," she suggested, quiet and fierce. "We were very very worried about you, Lance."

Lance felt something emotional start to build in the back of his throat. It weighed down his voice and made him have to clear his throat a few times. "Sorry, I wasn’t -- it was a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

"We know," Shiro said lightly, slowly easing them out of the weird atmosphere they all now found themselves in. He plucked up a handful of napkins and began mopping up Hunk’s forgotten but knocked over drink as he talked. "It's fine. There's just gonna be a learning curve we all have to get used to. Things'll be different, but there's nothing wrong with that."

"Hip hip hurrah," Lotor mumbled into his drink. "Go team go, and all that. I swear, you always talk like a high school football coach."

This comment earned Lotor an elbow in his side from Allura, and a head shake and eye roll from Shiro, who finished cleaning up the spilled cocktail without another word. But even all of that made it feel okay to sort of laugh off the remnants of weirdness lingering in the air. Hunk was twisting his fingers together, wide-eyed, and Pidge was fiddling with her glasses, but they were still laughing quietly. Lance smiled too, but it felt wavering. He felt berated and ashamed.

At least this new dynamic, of Allura and Shiro joking about something or being sincere to the point of painful, accompanied by Lotor pretending to look down his nose at them while intentionally interacting in whatever near-jaunty way he saw appropriate, was distracting. It was helping. Lance needed all the distractions he could get.

* * *

"Lance..."

Lance should have figured escaping to the bar to stare at the menu was a no-go. Distractions or not, the atmosphere at the table felt almost-but-not-quite-suffocating, teetering on some invisible fine line that Lance could neither detect nor stand. It was like they were all tiptoeing around conversation topics now, afraid to set off another accidental landmine. 

So Lance had lobbed out the first excuse he could think of to get some acceptable distance for a breather. But he couldn't drink on his meds, and all of them knew that. His lie had been easy to see through for what it was, and being off alone just meant Hunk was free to chase him down and finally speak his mind.

Lance wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what that was. "Hunk," he returned levelly, trying to grin. "Think the ‘Tiki Torch’ drink is a good idea, or straight up appropriative?"

"I think it's coconut water with a shot of tequila, and that it's gonna taste like crap," Hunk returned simply, half smiling in good nature. But he sighed and put a hand on Lance's arm, fingers curling gently into his bicep. "Hey, alright, you okay? You... uh. Well, I can tell you were with someone before you came out tonight. Didn't waste time, huh?"

Lance flinched, because... well, no, he hadn't. And Hunk was abruptly getting right to the heart of the matter. Lance forced a laugh out, trying to play it off. "Aw, gimme a break, Hunk! I'm high off my freedom! I'm out here, living life, and if I'm on my heat I might as well indulge!"

Hunk looked conflicted. "Yeah, but I don't know if that's necessarily what this is about, though."

It wasn’t. Of course Hunk knew that. And he really _did_ know -- he was cushioning it, saying, _‘I don’t know if...’_ and speaking hesitantly, but Lance knew that Hunk was certain without a doubt that no, this wasn’t about indulging and enjoying and sleeping around. He was trying not to be so blunt about it, for Lance's sake, but they both knew Hunk was fully aware of what exactly Lance was doing here. Of what Lance was chasing when he sought out partners during heat. And that was precisely why Hunk was worried.

"I'm okay," Lance said quietly, somberly, no acting and no fronts. "I was just afraid, first day out and having to deal with everything on my own. It's not -- it doesn't mean anything."

Hunk squeezed his arm tenderly. "But you're _not_ alone. That's -- that's my point. Man, Lance, I love you. You know that, right?"

And Lance did. It was just -- inside the empty spaces between his thoughts, when he was by himself, it was -- hard to keep that in mind. Him having sex, him being on heat -- it wasn't really only about the sex or only the heat. But then again, everyone knew that. To some extent, on some personal level, everyone dealt with that.

No one’s heat was just about their heat or about being aroused past the point of rationality or about feeling so overheated and weak and woozy that you could barely stand it. It was also about all the emotional parts too, about feeling more intensely than usual, connections and affection meaning more. Dismissals and rejections meaning more, too. And that was the frightening part. For everyone. Lance wasn’t special; he was just oversensitive.

"I know, bud," Lance said quietly, leaning into Hunk’s touch with a self-deprecating smile. "Love you, too."

* * *

Lance was just about running on fumes, an hour later. "Okay, this is fun, but I gotta head out," he told the others with finality, flashing them all peace signs. "I’m biking back and all."

"Wait, do you want a ride?" Shiro asked in concern, and Lance only waved him off. Shiro wasn’t having it though, eyebrows lowering. "No, I'm serious, Lance. It’s late, and you’re obviously feeling under the weather. We can worry about your bicycle tomorrow."

Yeah, Lance could _smell_ that Shiro was serious -- he was exuding the smell of maple brown sugar right now. Like, to an embarrassing degree. Whether Shiro was intentionally trying to use pheromones to comfort a fellow omega or not, Lance wasn’t about to stick around and find out. He needed to get going home. 

Tying to lighten the mood, Lance flexed his arms jokingly in response. "I could use the exercise, after my summer off!” A huge misnomer, but whatever. It didn’t seem to set anyone off like his failed Harry Potter joke, so he’d count it as a win. Chuckling to himself, he shrugged. “No, really, I'm fine. It's a nice night out. I want to enjoy it."

That was actually true -- Lance maybe was overtired, overheated, over pheromone-y, and over-socialized, but he did want to enjoy the quiet temperate night. He wanted to walk his bike home in solace and peace for a little while, and feel the cool breeze on his face. There were certain things you didn’t get to do, being cooped up in a halfway house, and meandering aimlessly on the backroads of your hometown at midnight was one of them. Maybe his family really was optimistic about his release this time -- this was arguably too much freedom they were giving him here, for the first night back.

Well, he’d take it. Worst case scenario, if he crashed and burned and got too tired to make it back, he'd call Veronica to come pick him up off the side of the road. Or he'd call Hunk. Or he'd call Allura to come get him behind Shiro's back -- because Allura would fuss and glare and cross her arms while tapping her foot and letting him know exactly how idiotic what he did was, but she’d also keep it secret so Shiro wouldn't fret and lecture.

But he felt up to this. He wanted to do it. And he didn’t want to burden anyone, either. Might as well round this night out with a little self-integrity.

"Let me know if you can hang tomorrow, promise?” Pidge reminded him hopefully, and Lance saluted her in acknowledgment. She snorted, “You’re so lame, how’d I forget that? See you.”

Other than a few concerned glances from the table, and a final offer of a ride from Shiro, Lance was let go with little resistance. They were trying to trust him, just like his family was. He could definitely tell they were still tiptoeing, not wanting to push him too hard or risk upsetting him too much. And they were definitely handling him with kiddie gloves. And that was all alright. It was expected. Lance couldn't fault them for it.

As he walked home, the weather and the ambiance was nice, bike wheels clicking beside him as he guided it home under the street lights. It didn’t take long before he realized he was more lightheaded and wobbly than he’d thought, though. That was okay though, right? Because he had his pride, and he had an emergency back up plan.

But he’d also made a huge error: Lance’s social side and private self were incredibly distinct, and he’d forgotten to take that into account. It’d been a while since he’d needed to.

Extroversion and social adrenaline were familiar cloaks he gladly wore, but he often let them overtake him in the moment if he wasn’t careful. And tonight, he hadn’t been. At the pub, he'd been fatigued and ready to go home far earlier than he realized. Now, by himself, it was hitting him just how under-suppressed he really was. And any leftover goodwill from his visit with Nyma was long gone.

He really _was_ running on fumes -- more so than he’d thought. This... might spell trouble. There was sweat pouring down his face and his knees kept knocking together. Maybe he needed to seriously consider calling someone...?

As heat-weak as he was, Lance couldn't think straight. But he also didn't want to raise a false alarm and freak everyone out, after they’d placed all this trust in him. He didn’t want to prove that they couldn’t trust him after all.

"Okay, McClain," he muttered to himself, dragging his feet and peering around for a place to take a quick pit stop. "You got this. Just take a five minute breather and pull yourself together."

Ah, bingo: there was park bench up ahead. He shuffled towards it and took a moment to prop up the bike stand, then sat heavily on a bench and focused on trying to breathe. He was really dizzy... and wouldn't it just be the stupidest thing, if he passed out from being too far gone on heat? Like, seriously, who did that besides middle schoolers newly into puberty and novices at coping with all the overwhelming sensations and weakness that heat could bring? Lance groaned and buried his face in his hands. Everything in his life was determined to make him feel like the arrested developed failure that he was. Great. 

Lance sat there, breathing through the cracks between his fingers, feeling awful, and time grew hazy around him. But he couldn’t sit here forever. It was only supposed to be a five minute break, and then back to walking home. _‘Five minutes,’_ he reminded himself, thoughts surfacing from somewhere far, far away. He swayed where he sat, breathing out roughly as he compromised with himself. _‘Give yourself five more minutes, and then you have to get home.’_

And then out of nowhere -- "Hey," came a concerned voice. "You okay?"

Well, this certainly was a surprise. What was someone doing out this late? At least Lance had an excuse. Sure, he couldn't lift his head right now because it felt too heavy, and yeah, he felt like his skin was burning off, but at least he had a reason to be out by some park in the middle of the night.

"I’m just great,” Lance said, words difficult to navigate when his breathing was so labored, but somehow he managed. “Move it along, please."

There was a pause. And then, still concerned, but tinged with a hint of attitude, "...Uhhh, no? Come on, seriously, are you okay?"

Lance huffed and looked up to blearily glare. He couldn't see straight and the person in front of him was a blur. Objectively, Lance understood getting agitated with someone trying to check on his well-being was not the nicest thing he could do. And objectively, Lance wasn’t even mad at this person. He was mad at the circumstances. That he had dared to think, however briefly, that he could have a nice walk home and not ruin his own night.

Instead, now here was someone drawing attention to how helpless Lance undoubtedly looked, and that sucked. “Don’t you have a nose?” Lance challenged, glaring with probably unfocused eyes, but he hoped the sentiment shone through anyway. “Obviously this is some heat bullshit, so you can buzz off."

Blurry as Lance’s eyes were, details started sliding into place. The person in front of him was some guy. He smelled like a mix of carrots and topsoil -- so an alpha, then -- and had longish black hair. He also had a stern looking face, growing sterner by the second, especially as he crossed his arms, glaring back. "Whatever, you look like you're going to pass out. Do you need help?"

Lance glared even harder. Something about this made him want to be stubborn. Something about this was humiliating. “Nah, I'm going home. Taking a break right now."

The guy grunted, non-committal, watching Lance for a moment. Slowly, his glare eased up a little. "So, this your bike?" He nodded to Lance's bicycle beside him.

Lance squinted suspiciously at him. The answer to that seemed obvious. Why was he asking? "Yes...?"

The guy sighed. "Cool. I live near this park.” He jerked his head gruffly. “Come on."

And then the guy just... got on Lance’s bike. He patted the back of it, like there was all that much space on it, enough for two grown men to balance on it comfortably. Which, there wasn’t, obviously. Lance made no move towards the bike. He simply stared incredulously, feeling nauseous from heat-sick, but also feeling horrifyingly amused. He almost wanted to laugh. Because what in the ever-loving weirdness was going on here?

"Come on, get on,” the guy said, tucking some of his long hair behind one ear and looking at Lance like this was the most obvious direction for their conversation to have taken. “It'll be more comfortable to sit on my couch than on a park bench. Also, not to be morbid, but you smell... really noticeable."

Lance’s face immediately flushed in mortification. Not like Lance was some pushover, and not like this was a dangerous town, but sitting out alone past midnight stinking of pheromones wasn't the safest thing he could be doing. Lance didn't even think of that. God, he was stupid.

Still, Lance heaved himself up. He swayed on his feet, but he tried to look intimidating -- or at least look steady. "How do I know _you're_ not some predator?" His voice was weaker than he'd like it, but whatever. He felt pretty damn awful right now, so he was cutting himself some slack.

The stranger huffed exasperatedly, and he grit his teeth together. "I guess you _don't,_ but I'm just trying to -- " Suddenly his annoyance shifted into something more closely aligned with confusion. "Hey..."

Lance wanted to roll his eyes, say some smarmy insult back, something -- but then the world sort of... felt like it was sliding sideways.

The guy's face was seriously a blur, even as he shouted, "Hey!"

Lance realized, as his knees gave out, that he was passing out. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Lance was confused for about point five seconds, coming to and realizing he was staring at the back of his eyelids. Then he distinctly remembered passing out and going down like a sack of bricks in a park. He let out a quiet but low groan -- talk about embarrassing.

_‘Just great,’_ he thought to himself, and pried his eyes open, squinting. It was pretty dim, wherever he was -- though the familiar smell reminded him of hospitals. Blinking, vision blurred, he turned his head to take in the sight of an IV by his bedside. Ah. That was because this _was_ a hospital. But how had he -- ?

From outside the door of his room, a voice floated in. " -- eah, I called them too. But when are you gonna get here?"

Lance frowned. He was still drifting back into consciousness, and his memories were hazy. How had he... gotten here? And why did that voice sound familiar?

"I mean," the voice continued, grumbling and irritated, clearly stressed. "I'm apparently so creepy to him at first glance that he didn't want anything to do with me when he was actually fainting. I doubt he's gonna be excited to see me at his bedside."

Lance blinked and then, a little horrified, sat up. Oh, right. The alpha guy. And while Lance took offense to someone referring to his passing out as 'fainting'... Well, it also couldn’t be denied that he'd ended up unconscious and sprawled out on the ground somewhere like some damsel in distress. He silently groaned and buried his face in his hands. Great. Great great great.

Outside, the guy was still talking -- it sounded like he was on his phone, maybe. "No, come on, he's gonna want someone he knows and trusts here. And I don't want to talk to his parents when I barely know him. I already don't do good with parents -- _any_ parents, not even ones I’ve met before."

His parents. At those words, Lance sat up straight again, pulling his face out of his cupped hands, eyes wide as the full gravity of the situation sunk in. Because this was beyond worst case scenario. Some strange guy had to get him to the hospital, and his parents probably got some absolutely panic-inducing call in the middle of the night. Perfect. Awesome. _Shit._

Lance sank back into the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide what he should say to the guy, if he plucked up the courage to come back in the room after his phone call. And what was Lance even going to say to his parents once they showed up at dark o'clock, freaking out and convinced that Lance couldn't be let out their sights after all...?

Lance was saved the trouble of having to ponder these topics too deeply when a nurse came in quietly. She brightened at the sight of him tracking her with his eyes, and said, "Oh good, you're up! Just wanted to take your vitals, make sure you're comfortable. Let you know you'll be here overnight, but you've got some family and friends coming to check on you for a bit.”

Lance grimaced at her, not necessarily surprised but not welcoming that particular confirmation. “Really? At this hour?”

She hummed soothingly and nodded. “Uh-huh! Visiting hours are over, but we know people need to be able to lay eyes on their loved ones to check on them. And family can stay, if they want."

...Huh. Would they want to? Lance had no idea. Staying here overnight, tending to his bedside... all they’d need then was for it to be the dead of winter, blustering and blisteringly cold outside, and they’d have all the makings of a trauma time capsule for any one of them, Lance and his parents alike. _‘How... depressing,’_ he thought, and then sort of wanted to laugh at himself for it.

Instead of pondering _that_ new line of tragic concerns, he shot the nurse an over the top, fake grim stare. "Give it to me straight, Doc, how bad is it?"

She laughed, amused, and played along. "Let's see," she picked up his chart and flipped through it with a similarly grim expression, nodding. "A bump on the head from your fall, you’re at peak heat cycle so I'm sure you're pretty uncomfortable, and you've completely freaked out your friend out there.” She smiled at him, eyes sparkling. “It's not great, but I think you'll survive."

Lance snorted and nodded. "Good news, good news." There was no point in correcting her that he didn't know the guy outside. Said guy was actually peeking in the room now, cellphone cradled between his shoulder and ear. Lance, ever the instigator, made sure to wave at him, wriggling the tips of his fingers and shooting him a wink. Whatever, like this shit could get any worse. Might as well have a sense of misplaced humor about it.

The guy flushed a little and ducked back out. Which... alright, that was a reaction to have. It was kind of cute, and definitely hilarious, that someone so serious-faced was acting almost bashful about Lance acknowledging him.

The nurse chatted with Lance amicably, as she went about checking his temperature and pulse and doing some fiddling around with his IV drip. "Don't be embarrassed by any of this. Actually, a lot of people get taken out by their heats all the time. It's really not as juvenile a thing as people make it out to be."

"Yeah, but I honestly was also being kind of stupid," Lance confided in her with a sigh. "So, I know I'm never gonna hear the end of it -- "

The guy from the park stuck his head in again, this time staring at the floor. He was off the phone now. "There're visitors," he informed them in a mumble. Lance found himself wondering if he really actually _was_ shy normally. He hadn’t seemed like it in the park. 

"They can come in," the nurse acquiesced kindly. "I'm about done here."

As she wrote down the last few things on her clipboard and gathered her things, Lance was not at all surprised when Allura rushed in, flanked by Shiro. And of course, behind them, were Lance's parents.

He recognized the worried looks on both his mom and dad’s faces, and knew the only reason Allura and Shiro were first to his bedside was because his parents were holding back, approaching him with a cautiousness usually reserved by people for skittish horses and cutesy woodland creatures.

Lance was going to ignore that for now, especially since Allura was grabbing his hand and somehow looking worried and infuriated all at once, as she said, "_Lance_." There were a hundred things hidden in that one word from her.

He hated that this was how things had panned out. "Hey, okay, so I'm fine and this was not intentional," Lance tried to say this as quickly as possible, wanting to head off the concern and the panic. He had nothing else to offer but a promise that he wasn't -- or, well -- just -- He wanted to make sure they all knew that this familiar scene, him laid up in a hospital bed, wasn't on purpose.

That didn't seem to be a huge concern for Shiro, though he was still fussing, as expected. "I _asked_ you, if you wanted a ride home, Lance, and this is why." But when Lance shrugged, abashed, that seemed to be enough for Shiro. He sighed and inclined his head towards Lance, asking, "You feeling okay?"

Lance nodded vigorously, wanting to prove that everything was okay, and that the trauma time capsule thing he’d been thinking about earlier didn’t need to be the case here. "Yeah, mostly, besides the crummy part of heat." He tugged lightly on his IV drip. "Guess I was dehydrated."

"And worn out, I'm sure," Allura said, squeezing his hand, scenting him lightly of lavender and sweet pea, for just a brief moment to soothe him, letting Lance know she wasn't really mad, only concerned. But then she and Shiro were eyeing Lance's parents, who were hovering awkwardly, silent so far. "Erm. But I suppose..."

Shiro leaned over and squeezed Lance's shoulder -- a flash of maple-y sugar there and gone in an instant -- then pulled back. Allura, after a final hand squeeze, followed suit. "We should give you and your folks some time alone," Shiro said, finishing Allura's trailed off thought with typical Shiro charisma. Like it wasn't awkward as hell, to be here with Lance's parents, who were staring at him like this was more serious than it was.

Like, he got it, _seriously_ got it, even as he watched Shiro and Allura leave, hand in hand with each other, that his parents really had trauma of their own when it came to Lance getting himself laid up in the hospital. Hell, Hunk did too, even if he never showed it. That trauma time capsule joke wasn’t actually a joke, because there was real, bona fide trauma he’d been doling out to his loved ones over the years. But did they have to look so torn up over a false alarm...?

Even as he thought it, Lance knew it wasn’t fair of him to ask that of them. "Maybe you overdid it, for your first night back," his mom finally said quietly, still hovering, still too cautious.

Lance shrugged, gaze dropping to his lap. He’d rather look at nothing than at the fear swimming in both their eyes. It made him feel really guilty. "Yeah, maybe."

He heard his dad let out a shuddering sigh. "Lance, going forward, maybe you ought to let us drive you places."

Lance sucked in a slow breath. There had to be more here than just that. That was too mild, would be too easy to negotiate away after he got off heat. "That's it? Surprised you're not telling me I need to send you hourly text updates or something." Not that it would be absurd for them to ask that of him. Like, at all. He was being intentionally difficult, if only a little, by being obtuse. That was because this was the only way he knew how to deal with the fact that _they_ didn’t know how to deal with him. They were just two parents and one child, all who didn’t know how to deal with one another. And that was Lance’s fault.

In response to Lance’s barb, there was a too-weighty pause between the three of them, silence pervasive and condemning. And eventually, his mom said, "...Well, actually, Lance..."

Oh. Well. Okay, then. "Right, right. That was probably a suggestion in my therapist's informational packet to you about me coming home, huh?" The same informational packet had advised that Lance not even think about starting a job search for at least the first month out. That he continue his treatment plan with a new therapist within the first four days. To gradually up his suppressants and keep an eye out for negative side effects, just in case.

God, it wasn’t like he was fragile and hopeless. But it also wasn’t like any of this felt like it helped, when he was at his worst and saddest. Whatever, it was what it was. “Got it, we gotta make sure I’m well babysat every moment of the day. Let’s do this.”

"Lance, this isn't a joke," his mom said sharply, obviously upset by his flippant tone.

Lance bit on his bottom lip to stop from saying something vindictive and bitter that he didn’t really mean. He felt like crap, he already _knew_ it wasn't funny, any of this, and he didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with things right now. But that was precisely it -- he was lashing out. This was his version of lashing out.

"I know it's not," he said, once the urge to be shitty to his parents passed. They were just a separate entity altogether, from his friends and his sister. In fact, right now he was wishing Veronica had come instead, because at least siblings knew to be more pains in the neck than overly serious over having to come get your heat sick ass at 3 o'clock in the morning. "I -- I know, okay?"

At the waver in his voice, the fight seemed to go out of his mom, her shoulders slumping as she stayed silent. His dad stared at him like he wanted to gather Lance up into his arms in a hug, but also like he didn’t know how to make the first move. Instead, the rest of the conversation petered out quickly enough, after his dad confirmed that they'd be back to pick him up the next morning, first thing. “You’ll probably get more rest if we’re not here overnight,” he said, and Lance heard the unsaid -- that this was reminding them of previous times, even if it was clearly different.

And how did you ever atone for that sort of thing? Lance was drowning in guilt over it, whenever he stopped to think about it. An apology was probably a good first step, but it also didn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of things.

"Sorry," he told them anyway, quietly, seriously, as they turned to leave. "I thought it'd be at least day two before I started making trouble for you guys, but..."

They both turned back around so fast that Lance was sure if he’d blinked he’d have missed it. Next thing he knew, Lance found himself being pulled into a hug by his mom, the two of them then being hugged by his dad.

“It’s not trouble,” his dad said steadily. “We’re worried and we want the best for you, but you’re not trouble.”

Lance could only murmur a noncommittal sound in reply. They were his parents. They were obligated to say that, in a sense. But it was still good to hear.

"We’ll see you in the morning," his mom said fiercely into his hospital gown, her face tucked against his shoulder. There was a pause. Then she said, "God, you reek."

Lance snorted -- he certainly got his affability from her, if anyone. "Thanks, it's the heat."

"Don't be lewd, either of you," his dad said with a huge, world-worn sigh, but Lance could see out of the corner of his eye that his dad was smiling a little. And okay, there it was. A semblance of normality. That gave Lance some footing on where he was with his parents. On how to interact with them. He could do this.

"Literally in the hospital for it, but okay," Lance said in rebuttal, and the three of them laughed at -- well, at practically nothing. At a sense of relief sweeping through the three of them -- or at least that was the case for Lance.

It was with a much better atmosphere that his parents turned to leave the room a second time. Lance didn't feel like his world was possibly going to splinter apart, like his parents were never going to be able to see him past the admittedly unforgivable things he’d put them through, as he laid back down and watched them go.

* * *

If there was still time for visitors after his parents left, or if they'd only been allowed the little sliver of time Allura and Shiro had already taken, Lance wasn't sure -- he quickly fell asleep without meaning to, and only woke up when his nurse came back to check his vitals at 6am.

"You went out like a light," she told him pleasantly. "Feeling better?"

Surprisingly, as he self-assessed how he felt, he realized that he really was. "Yeah, actually."

She grinned and started to wipe an alcohol pad at the crook of his elbow, getting ready to pull the IV out. "Yep, a nap and some fluids were exactly what your heat exhaustion ordered. You can go home and putter around if you want, but take it easy and get pampered. Eat lots of snacks and suck on ice chips while laying on the couch or something -- and that’s nurse’s orders, okay?”

Lance smiled at her and nodded, feeling really cared for. Nurses were kind of always the best. Doctors could be hit or miss, but Lance had yet to meet a nurse he didn't like. This particular nurse's good spirits got him through his morning check out, and her pleasantness eased along his parents too, once they showed up. Overall, the morning passed with little incident, and the car ride home was uneventful. 

There was some tension, as the car pulled into the garage and his dad cut off the engine, but Lance wasn’t going to mention it if they weren’t. Instead he hurried out the car and headed straight for the garage door that led to the mud room -- and noticed as he went that his bike was propped up against the wall beside the door.

Crossing the threshold into the mud room, Lance tried to lighten the mood by pointing it out with a snort. "Oh man, Shiro and Allura got my bike for me? Overachievers, as usual."

His dad shot him a strange look, but at least the stiffness in his shoulders and neck was easing up. "No, we brought it back last night." He said this like it was obvious.

Lance raised an eyebrow at both his parents, who were tramping into the mud room behind him and looking less tense, as he slipped off his shoes, leaving them on the shoe rack. If that was the case, then... "You talked to that guy, then?" Lance figured the stranger from the park had still been in possession of his bike last night, after everything that'd gone down. It wasn't outlandish that his parents tracked him down for it, but it seemed more like something Shiro and Allura would do.

"You mean Keith?" His mom said, pausing to use her foot to nudge the door to the garage shut behind her and turning the lock in place with a deft little click. Then she shot him a strange look as well. “Yes, of course. He wanted to make sure your bike was accounted for. Said he ‘didn’t want you thinking he stole it’, or something.”

Lance blinked, feeling all of a sudden like he was moving in liquid amber, slow and stupid. There was a weird familiarity in her voice. Guess she and this Keith guy had hit it off at some point last night. “Made a new friend, Mom? Watch out Dad, Mom’s really cute. She could totally leave you for a younger man.”

His dad only shook his head and ignored the joke as he untied his shoes, but the look his mom was shooting him was getting increasingly stranger and stranger. And then she said, "What are you talking about? We already know Keith -- he's Shiro's cousin."

Lance froze, staring at his mom. What in the -- "You wanna run that by me again?" 

He was standing motionless in the mud room, as his dad strolled out into the hall and his mom, slipping off her flats, walked around him too, motioning for Lance to follow her into the house’s entryway.

Lance followed obediently, shuffling after her in his socks, saying, "Mom, no really, Shiro's _what_?" That guy had said he lived nearby. He'd -- had he _known_ who Lance was the whole time they were talking? He apparently knew Lance’s parents, so why wouldn’t he? What a little creep, if that was the case -- 

"Shiro's cousin," his mom repeated, heading towards the kitchen. "He’s very nice, though a little quiet. I think he's moving here for a job, but Shiro's been excited and thinks he'll be here longer. You two are the same age, I think. Was he not at your little party?"

"_No,_ mother," Lance said imperiously, for emphasis and drama, following closely behind her. "I didn't know who the heck my apparent knight in shining armor was."

"Oh,” she said, heading for the fridge and opening it up to pull out a carton of eggs. “Well, you should probably thank him for getting you help. Anyway, omelettes sound good to you?" She was already on to the next topic of breakfast, and clearly was not troubled by any of this.

But she probably didn’t realize the implications that were dawning on Lance, dreadful and absurd. Passing out in front of a stranger you most likely were never going to see again was a one time horror show; passing out in front of a friend’s cousin who apparently was moving into town and probably going to be sticking around for a while was a recurring nightmare. Great.

Well, as mortifying as the whole thing was, Lance had to agree she was right. He did owe the guy a thank you and a fruit basket or something. It was bizarre to think about though, needing to track Keith down -- through Shiro, of all people -- and saying thanks for taking care of the whole ordeal. That was probably because Lance couldn't quite put a finger on this guy yet, if he was creepy or kind or just plain weird.

Lance shook his head a little, trying to control his spiraling thoughts. “Yeah, Mom, you’re right,” he said belatedly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets with a sigh and going to perch on a bar stool at the counter. His IV pick-me-up was running out, and the vague heat symptoms of fatigue were coming back. He needed food and a nap. “And omelettes sound great. Extra cheese in mine, please.”

Keith, huh? Well, Lance would reserve judgment for the light of day and the clarity of being a little less messed up from heat before deciding if he liked or hated the guy. At least Keith had been decent enough to give Lance space at the hospital... _and_ to get him his bike back in one piece as soon as possible. And he was related to Shiro, who was one of the most fantastic people Lance knew. So it was likely enough that Keith would be someone Lance could get along with.

Here was to hoping, anyway, Lance thought to himself optimistically, watching his mom explain a funny ‘new’ joke she saw the other day, and began to imitate the salt bae meme as she seasoned the eggs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I didn’t check if lance’s other siblings -- who I’m pretty sure are named luis and marco -- are older than both veronica and lance, so if it’s non-canonical then so be it: I’ve made veronica and lance the youngest two siblings in this fic, and that’s just what it is, I suppose.
> 
> 2) the chapter got too long and I was getting stuck in edits, so I said screw it and chopped the thing in half to edit and post sooner. I will edit the next part as fast as possible and try to upload it within the next week or two, seriously, because keith shows up in the second half and I know I need to make up for his general absence so far. sorry!
> 
> also, I did some clean up and edits on previous chapters -- nothing too big, just streamlining some narrative/dialogue, adding some subtle elaborations here and there, and making things a little clearer and easier to read (I hope). sorry for the long break! it was unintended.

Lance didn't need to be babied through his heat -- again, he was a full fledged adult, not a pre-pubescent teen who was new to the whole thing -- but it didn't mean he didn't half-enjoy it. He'd been the baby of the family for a solid eight or so years, before younger cousins and nieces and nephews and the like started being born. This meant that even without Lance being a habitual eff-up, his family tended to fall into old habits and coddle him regardless. Usually, it'd make him feel some kind of way. For now though, it wasn't half bad.

It definitely made it clear that being back home was going to be a generally weird experience. Of course a kinda good one -- but that didn’t detract from the _weird_. That was the only way he could think about it, lounging on the couch as the TV droned on, playing some late morning cartoon program for the younger kids. He was on day two or three-ish of his heat, and so was essentially phasing out of it, but being surrounded by family... felt right.

The younger kids were perched in front of the television and alternating between shushing each other and swapping commentary on the show they were watching. Veronica was painting his toenails as he laid on the couch, boneless and relaxing in the sun filtering in through the nearest window. His grandma was cooking something for everyone to eat in the adjourning kitchen, clattering around and playing some radio program just loud enough that if Lance strained his ears he could hear it, even with the TV on -- and it was all pretty nice. There was peace inside him, like this.

Yeah, this was just... nice. Being home was strange, nearly foreign as he waited for the other shoe to drop -- but in the meantime, it was nice to just indulge.

"You hanging out with Pidge today?" Veronica asked lightly, capping the nail polish and blowing on his toes.

"Yeah, she's excited about something," he told her. "And I'm not so heat-y anymore, so I can stand to go outside."

Veronica hummed, studying her handiwork on his nails. "Is she picking you up, or are you waiting ‘til Mom and Dad are free?"

Lance tried not to groan. He totally got the trade-off -- he was only two days past psych ward release, and one day past a more general and unintended hospital release -- but this in particular was a sort of babying that definitely raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made something anxious and dark churn low in the pit of his stomach. And all of that was then amplified by his current emotional oversensitivity. _‘Gee, thanks, heat bullshit,’_ he thought morbidly. _‘Yeesh.’_ "Yeah, Pidge is picking me up, _Mother_."

Veronica pinched his ankle, making him yelp. His sullen gaze met her miffed one. "Don't get mad at me, dummy," she warned him. "It's just a question."

He scrunched his nose up at her, absolutely ready to go full bratty younger brother, if she was going to play the bossy older sister role first. "Why are you even here? Go home to your cat and your girlfriend."

Veronica pinched him again, making him hiss and start trying to escape her reach, despite his feet being in her lap. "I will dump you onto the floor,” she warned. “Don't think I won't."

“_Try it_,” he challenged, immediately ceasing any attempts to escape to instead go rigid, trying to weigh more and be harder to move.

From the kitchen, their grandma called out, "If you two keep fighting, you're not getting lunch, at least not from me."

Their grandma did not make idle threats, and they both knew it -- everyone in the family knew it, which was why the younger kids started _ooooh-_ing and giggling. To put on a show for the kids, Lance gasped and Veronica gawked, and then they openly glared at each other.

But it was silly -- they were just play-fighting, both before and now, but it felt a little like the real thing. Like they were elementary school age again and arguing over something totally and completely inconsequential, before someone stepped in and threatened to tell Mom or Dad (Luis and Marco’s old go-to), or to take away their snack or dessert or something. And it was funny then, to Lance, that he wasn’t the only one being babied at the moment.

After a moment of glaring, Lance snorted. And that was all it took: always, as soon as one of them broke, the other was quick to follow. So Lance was laughing, and then Veronica was curling over his shins, choking on laughter, too.

“Much better,” their grandmother commented from the kitchen, “But what do we say?”

And the two of them remembered to be respectful and acknowledge her by chorusing together, dutifully, “Sorry, Grandma.”

She only hummed in reply. The sounds of cooking continued, the smell of something well spiced and delicious wafting out into the living room. The younger kids lost interest in them and went back to their cartoon show and talking to each other. It all felt really normal, even though things hadn’t been like this since probably late (_late_) high school, and then a handful of breaks throughout college. Still, it all felt really calm and homey and perfect, and Lance loved it.

"Glad you're back, Lance," Veronica said softly, smiling over at him, hands squeezing his legs briefly.

"Glad to be back," Lance told her just as softly in return. It didn't feel so much like a lie, in the moment.

* * *

Apparently, Pidge wanted to ride around town and point out all the new things that'd cropped up while he was away.

"I figured,” she said with a shrug, "that everyone's gonna be awkward about it when they mention the new supermarket or how that one gay club finally got the permits to rent out the old warehouse for raves, and you're gonna be like, 'whuuuh? I didn't know that,’ and then everyone's gonna act _weird_ and _sad_, and this way is just all around better."

“Cool, cool, some brief notes,” Lance said lightly, actually really appreciating the sentiment -- because yeah, that _was_ what everybody was going to do, so this was a good idea -- but... well. He began to tick off a few fingers. "One, why'd you make me sound like an idiot when you did that impression of me? And two, what's this about gay raves? Do you _go_?" Pidge was not a social person, last he’d checked.

She snorted. "Oh, hell no. I went once, and only with Shiro, because he was all, 'we have to support our community, and you should make friends,' and like. I dunno. I love Shiro and that he's always been my number one supporter ever since the start of my 'beautiful trans journey' as -- _you_ know -- he loves to put it -- ” Yeah, Lance also had personal experiences with Shiro being genuinely super proud of and happy for him in that specific way. Shiro was such a sap, in the best of ways. “ -- and for me to 'become the best and truest me I can be', but forum boards are just as good as so-called 'real life mingling', which I told him -- "

“Hey,” Lance reached over and put a hand on her furiously air quoting fingers, which were making her take both hands off the steering wheel with a concerning frequency. She went back to driving one-handed, as he took her other hand hostage. "Put ‘em away. I love you, but you gotta stop quoting and imitating people every ten seconds. Also, you sound like you're insulting us when you do our voices."

Pidge lifted a haughty eyebrow, then stuck out her tongue. "That’s ‘cuz I am."

He squeezed her fingers together warningly and rolled his eyes. "God, you're such a miniature asshole sometimes."

"I am a _normal-sized_ asshole, surrounded by slightly-above-average-height assholes," she insisted, snatching her hand away and sticking her tongue out at him a second time.

He grinned winningly at her, reclining his seat back further for full smug effect. “So you admit we’re the... _bigger_ assholes, then?”

She groaned, loud and long. “Oh my _god_, shut up.”

They both laughed, though, before finally settling down. A comfortable silence settled in the car as they drove on, Lance watching the scenery pass by. Nothing too much had changed, but in small ways it was clear time had passed while he was away. A new coat of paint here, a changed sign there. Beginning of summer sale announcements were now pre-fall ones, someone had uprooted all the shrubbery in front of a daycare and replaced it with a pretty flower bed, things like that. Little things. Things had changed here -- but had Lance? Had he changed _enough?_

The mood naturally took a shift from lighthearted to something a little more somber, as the silence went on. Lance could practically feel it like a sixth sense. Something was coming their way to disrupt the joking mood completely. He could tell it was... and he wasn’t disappointed. Eventually, as Pidge tapped her fingers against the steering wheel while they waited at a red light, she invited it in. “So, how are you doing," Pidge asked quietly. "Like, feelings and job-wise."

And there it was. Lance laughed, rueful. "You mean, how am I squandering my _super_ expensive, _super_ useless degree in agronomy and agricultural sciences? Well, I spent the day laying on my parents couch, and I'm on strict demands to not even glance at job listings until next month. So I'm doing really crazy good. At squandering, I mean." He watched the light turn green, but the car didn’t move.

Instead, Pidge huffed a little, reaching across the car to punch him in the arm. "Hey, don't say it like that. You were sick. People get sick, and they have to handle it and take care of themselves. Having a job isn't worth backing yourself into a corner where you’re compromising yourself, if you can avoid it."

Easy for Pidge to say -- she was at her dream job. She was moving up in the world. She was conforming to the socially appropriate checkpoints of college-to-career trajectory. She was... looking at him worriedly as they sat at a green -- now turning yellow, and now red once again -- light, seeming genuinely concerned for him. About him.

Lance sighed and tried not to be bitter about Pidge's success. Him being miserable wasn’t a good reason to get agitated with the others. It was good -- it was _great_ \-- that she and Hunk were well on their way. Lance would never wish anything but the best for his friends, and hopefully he’d get there too, someday. Someday soon.

"You're right,” he admitted softly. He could only try to keep moving forward, to keep handling his business and get better and hope the other pieces started to fall into place as he did so. "Alright, well, show me this rave warehouse of yours, already."

* * *

Spending a day with Pidge was always a good time -- she was funny and blunt, and that made for less handling, as Lance was starting to call it -- or the way the people in his life didn’t know how to be around him without constantly calling into question, in both big and small ways, his ability to function or cope or deal with everyday minutiae. Instead, riding around with Pidge, who kept cracking jokes and not letting up on her impressions (now that Lance had expressly forbidden her from doing them), had been a nice afternoon of nothingness with a close friend.

_'safe, with pidge,'_ he sent his parents later for his check-in text, as the two of them sat in the car at an overlook spot to take in the nature. He snapped a selfie of him and Pidge making silly faces to send off as well. _'going to hunk's work, so might not need dinner.'_ That had not been the plan for today, actually. The deal with his parents had been: go out with Pidge, who will drive you; send hourly texts; come home by dinnertime, because family quality time together is important, now more than ever.

Pidge, who had been informed of and sworn to said deal, read the text over his shoulder and made a questioning noise. "Oh, are we? Are they going to be cool with you skipping out like that? I thought dinners were a big deal at your house."

"Aren’t they a big deal at every suburban family's house?" He argued baselessly, like that justified things. He wasn’t going to admit that he was being a brat and trying to find the hard lines in the sand right now, trying to see how far was too far for his parents to allow. How lenient were they really willing to be?

It was just -- his parents clearly didn't want to give boundaries, in case they were triggering or stifling for him. But Lance had always thrived on knowing precisely where the limits were as a kid. He wasn't really a rule-breaker just for the sake of it or anything, but he was always willing to test rules and the people enforcing them. He liked to know the space in which he could function, liked operating right within the lines of what was okay. If he needed to act out for release or to channel negative feelings, it was relieving to know the explicit boundaries. That way, he knew he wasn't overstepping when he didn't mean to -- or that he was merely bending the rules, when he _did_.

Basically, he wasn’t always the nicest person. Right now, he wasn't being nice, trying to find out if skipping dinner and fully disregarding parental suggestions to return home would result in stricter rules and a tighter leash. But it would help him feel a little more in control of something going on around him. And the thought of that made it worth testing.

"Hm. If I'm an asshole, then I have to say -- you're kind of a jerk when you wanna be," Pidge told him with a sigh after staring at him for awhile. Obviously she could see right through him and what he was doing, but she only called him out a little before giving it up. "Gah, whatever, let's go bug Hunk until he kicks us out."

Lance appreciated her giving him the space to be awful without too much criticism. Sometimes, you just needed to indulge in being a sucky person to vent. He’d apologize and make it up to his parents when he was feeling less in need for something to ground him. "There is some hardcore irony in what you just said," Lance pointed out, smiling gratefully at Pidge for going along with his plan. "But agreed."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s what was formerly the second half of chapter 4. sorry if the pacing is off -- again, this all used to be one chapter. a cool part of writing fanfiction is you get to make up the rules, like fudging up the rising and falling action of your chapters, haha whoops. anyway, *strums a guitar* here’s keith fuckin finally.

Hunk was as happy as ever to see them, but also very clearly exasperated. "There's these pesky little things called lunch and dinner rush, and I know you've heard of them," he sighed out at the sight of them. "From _me_. Constantly complaining about them. So, yeah, I _know_ you’ve heard of them."

"I bring you your best friend all this way," Pidge said, mock-insulted, rearing back dramatically, like something straight out of a soap opera. "Out of the goodness of my heart -- "

Hunk rolled his eyes and turned away, cutting her off and not even giving Lance the chance to chime it by saying over his shoulder, "Yeah, right, you’re the epitome of selflessness. Whatever, I'll grab the defective pastries box and ask for a break. Go sit at the table nearest the bathroom, you scrubs. I'll be right over."

Pidge cheered and Lance ooooh-ed and ahhh-ed and gave Hunk a tiny little applause, both of them playing up their dramatic antics even more. Hunk only whined at them. "Oh my god, seriously, you guys suck."

It was all such a reminder of old times in high school or college. Pidge being a little terror just because she could. Lance being on because he craved attention. Hunk putting up with the both of them because he loved them, and acted put out but honestly enabled them more than anyone. It was comforting, some familiarity in a day spent exploring all the latest changes and shifts in a hometown Lance had been absent from lately.

As Hunk dropped the basket of semi-stale and slightly misshapen breakfast pastries before them, Lance noticed he was watching them select old favorites with a vague smile. Hunk must have been feeling the sentimentality and nostalgia too. And as Hunk selected and pulled out a bread roll, he said, "Man, we should do something, just the three of us."

"What do you call this, then?" Lance joked, nibbling on a cookie that was just a bit on the side of burned. "I don't see anyone else goofing off and bugging you at work."

Hunk snorted. "Yeah, that’s because everyone else I know has home training. No, I mean -- a planned thing. A big thing. Something celebratory and fun."

"Ooooh, road trip, maybe?" Pidge offered giddily, tearing a croissant in smaller pieces with nimble fingers. "They never end well, but that's half the fun: watching just how pear-shaped things can go."

"Maybe,” Hunk said reluctantly. "I’m not a huge road trip advocate, but I want to do _something_. We can hash it out later, but just -- something. Like old times. To catch up."

Lance felt a twinge in his chest at those words. Hunk was always so... good at being sincerely emotional. It was never a guilt trip coming from him -- it was just Hunk openly feeling and letting people know that he cared about them and missed them. No one else could get away with that, Lance didn’t think. Not like Hunk could.

"Geez, sorry for dropping off the face of the planet if it's gonna make you sappy," Lance joked, absolutely not meaning it. And his voice was soft and just a slight bit trembling, which meant all three of them knew he didn’t mean it, which was the point. And anyway, jokes about sappiness had a long-standing history coming from Lance -- nothing sad or traumatic, just a common enough joke he’d make, made usually because he was often the first person to tear up at the sign of something heartfelt.

Pidge snickered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like _King Sap_ \-- which Lance was going to ignore for now -- then she banged a dramatic fist on the table -- which had Hunk shushing her frantically. "Then,” Pidge said grandly, “I hereby declare that it’s decided! We're going on a road trip, baby!"

Lance lifted his cookie in cheers, then took a hearty bite. Meanwhile, Hunk made a dissenting noise. "Well, okay, remember how I said I wasn’t super into the road trip idea? So, let’s maybe _not_ go on a road trip. Maybe, let’s do a day trip somewhere, instead. You know I get really bad motion sickness."

Lance, who did know this -- everyone who knew Hunk even a little knew this -- sucked chocolate off his teeth, tilting his head in pretend confusion. "You didn't grow out of that yet?"

Pidge hummed, still dutifully shredding her croissant. "I know, it's like, when will his delicate little inner ears finish developing, right?"

Hunk tugged the pastry box towards himself, glaring at them both. "If you're going to be jerks, then I'll just take my break later and save these defective baked goods for someone who deserves it. Shay's always down to stop by and say hi..."

After shameless groveling and puppy dog eyes, which turned into shared laughter at the predictable trajectory of their conversation, the three of them settled into an easy meandering talk about nothing in particular. There was a comfortable ebb and flow of words and harmless topics between them, conversation lulling only when their mouths were full of food.

"We should probably really feed the baby, if I'm going to keep Lance out past dinner," Pidge contemplated after a while, eyeing the clock and then Lance, who made an annoyed noise at being called ‘the baby’ by the actual youngest of their friend group. "I guess feeding you cookies and muffins isn't going to put me in your mom's good graces."

"I'm literally at work and will be completely livid if you make me cook for you after stealing my break, but if you do order something I can apply my discount on your behalf," Hunk said, licking his thumb and reaching over to scrub at the corner of Lance's mouth without pause. "You know we have good food here."

Lance had been getting ready to point out the contradictions of Hunk warning them not to order and then immediately incentivizing doing so, but was now more preoccupied with Hunk _mom-ing_ him with the spit-wipe technique. Then, Lance’s thought process got tangled up on that fact -- being mom-ed, and then his own, true and actual mother. He pondered over the fact that his two best friends knew full well that Lance skipping dinner and only eating desserts was a disaster in the long-run, because his parents would eventually find out, and that was prime fussing material. Lance’s brain kept whirring, jumping to the fact that Hunk and Pidge were really intertwined with Lance's family, were practically family themselves, and were the same with Allura and Shiro: involved and invested and in the know. Had been present when Lance had not, and that meant something specific. That begged a certain, specific question --

"I'm going to ignore the way you just mom spit-wiped me," Lance couldn’t help but mention, even if it was irrelevant to a bigger point he wanted to get to, "Though, wow, ew, but also thank you for loving me, "

"That I do,” Hunk said, smiling his _I believe I have done no wrong_ smile. "I normally wouldn't, but you squirm a lot when I give you fair warning and try to use a napkin. You’ve taught me that you have to be ambushed, unfortunately."

Lance stared at Hunk for a moment, contemplating if he should take the bait and go down the rabbit hole of an argument that he could totally make there, before shaking his head and deciding against it. "_Anyway_, I have some questions." 

Because Lance had just realized -- if his parents knew Keith, and if Keith was apparently related to Shiro, then there were pretty high chances of at least Pidge having some information on the guy. And Lance just -- felt weird about getting in Shiro's face about this out of nowhere, when he didn't particularly want to deal with thanking Keith at all. Just because it was awkward, that Lance had messed up and stranded himself, then passed out after being kind of unintentionally rude to a guy who maybe knew him but not vice versa. It was all awkward and annoying and lowkey mortifying, but Lance knew he still needed to thank and apologize to Keith. Which he definitely, absolutely would -- so he wanted to be as armed with information about this new alpha guy hanging out with his friends before disastrously stumbling into another conversation with him. 

So yeah. Information. Hunk and Pidge. This could work. "Questions...” he said slowly, for suspense, “About Keith. Shiro’s cousin? Do either of you know him?"

Immediately, Hunk looked uncomfortable. Pidge sucked on her tongue audibly, eyebrow ticking into an annoyed arch. "Oh god, you've seen him already? I told you Hunk -- he'd lay eyes on Mister Prickly Pants and immediately try to get into said pants."

Lance blinked, surprised at the response, even if it wasn’t aimed at him. “Uh, what?”

"Which, there’s nothing wrong with being open sexually,” Hunk was quick to say, totally mom-ing again, and clearly misreading Lance’s confusion. “But it’s just -- emotionally -- I mean -- weren't you just with someone?”

Pidge, who likely had not known this, made a face. Lance would have made one back and snarked at her, but Hunk was still going. He was still advising carefully, looking madly uncomfortable, like he'd rather be doing anything other than talking about Lance's potential sex life. "So, there’s that -- and I don’t know Lance, you're still going through something, checked out or not. So, maybe just slow it down and check in with yourself a little more before -- I mean, -- "

Lance figured this had gone on long enough and held up a hand to put a stop to it. Then he looked at them both in amusement for a moment. "Cool, so no one said anything about trying to sleep with Shiro's cousin. Glad to know you have no faith in me whatsoever -- and that I apparently am a big ole slut, huh?" This was mostly said in good nature. Mostly.

Hunk stammered, but Pidge rolled her eyes and started ticking off fingers. "One, obviously it's not bad to sleep around if you want. Two, obviously you have no qualms _about_ sleeping around if and when you want.” She paused and made the same judgy face from before, which gave Lance the chance to shoot a pouty glare at her. Pidge continued. “Three, I think the bigger, more concerning point here is that you have a type. A 'getting this person to pay attention to me is really hard and I accept the challenge' type. And Keith definitely fits that type."

Did he now? Lance wouldn’t know, considering how little he knew about the guy.

Hunk chimed back in, explaining carefully and slowly. "It’s not news that I think, emotionally speaking, sleeping with people is a big deal if you're not careful -- at least for certain people. So I just want you to be careful, for your own sake.”

All of this was kind... but also was assuming some things. Like that he and Keith had met in more normal conditions. With a sigh, Lance realized that no one had mentioned last night to the uninvolved parties. Keith must have contacted Lance's parents, told Shiro and Allura, and that was it. Maybe Lotor was looped in by virtue of proximity, but otherwise the news hadn’t traveled very far outside his own family.

“Okay, listen,” Lance admitted, “I kind of ended up in the hospital last night." He didn't want secrets to fester between anyone about anything. It made things harder to manage. "For heat exhaustion? And Keith was the one who helped me. So we met on accident, but my parents were all chummy with him and I was like 'yeah, this is bizarre and I need some answers'. So surely,” at this point, he was shooting Hunk and Pidge meaningful looks. “_Surely_, my two best friends who I am closest to aren't going to make wild assumptions when I ask them. Surely."

He was mostly joking. Because really, neither of them had completely incorrect points, beyond them relating in the least to Keith. Hunk’s concern over Lance mismanaging his emotional needs was hardly new. And Pidge wasn't wrong about the ways people being resistant to his charm had a way of drawing him in at times. And Keith had a kind of nice scent and cute hair, from what Lance remembered of him, so there were worst assumptions for anyone to draw. Plus, they all knew Lance was sad boy central over here, which made his tendencies to crush sudden and hard worse. There'd been times, in high school mostly, when that meant all it took for him to get mildly obsessed was a nice smile and general common courtesy. Once, at his saddest in high school at 16, a volleyball player had held the door open for him and then never paid attention to him again. Lance had been crushing for two straight weeks.

But they were wrong about this, what him asking about Keith was about. And they were realizing that, as both Hunk and Pidge stared at him for a while, comprehension dawning on their faces. "...Ohhh," they eventually chorused together. Hunk looked embarrassed. Pidge, decidedly less so.

"Sorry for jumping to conclusions," Hunk said.

"But you _did_ have that latent crush on Shiro for forever, so it'd make sense -- " Pidge was gearing up to claim, unapologetic.

Lance wrinkled his nose and cut her off. "What, that the law of transference would apply here? When'd you guys even assume I'd seen Keith, if you were thinking I got an insta-crush on him like that?"

"I don’t know, anytime we didn't see you," Hunk said. "I only saw you last night."

"And I got you after lunch," Pidge said. "There’s plenty of time in there for you to have laid eyes on Keith, especially since Shiro's been taking more off days since his disability got nudged up. I don’t know your life, Lance McClain."

Didn’t she though? Lance’s life was defined lately by his friends and family knowing just about everything there was to know about him. "Anyway," Lance said, trying to focus. "Back to my questions. Why does everyone know Keith -- did Shiro induct him into the group? You guys needed someone to fill in my spot that bad?" He was joking, of course... but he also felt bad about this, if he stopped to consider things for too long. Like, yeah, he'd been replaced by someone -- even if that wasn’t actually the case.

"Are we not allowed to make new friends anymore?" Pidge asked curiously, no judgment for once. That was because he knew she got it, the irrational fear of abandonment. "Because I promise Keith's cool."

Hunk pinched her for the callous approach (though Lance _got it_, he understood her point and was soothed by it, ever so slightly) and then tried his own hand at Lance’s insecurity being laid out to bare for them. Hunk said, imploringly, "It’s not like that. It’s Shiro’s _cousin_. I mean, if your cousin was moving into town, wouldn't you introduce them to all the people you know? I don't really know what you want us to say here, Lance."

Lance slumped back in his seat, not sure what he wanted either. He appreciated the open honesty from Hunk, though. That and Pidge’s callousness were things he could work with. "It’s fine. You can make friends with him, that’s _fine_, I just... I dunno. I want to know what he’s like and stuff. And also what his number or something is, ‘cuz I have to thank him for getting me checked in to the hospital and all that."

Pidge held out her hand and made grabby fingers. "Gimme." As Lance shoved his phone in her palm, and as she typed in Keith's information, she said, "No, dude, really, he's cool. A little weird, but aren't we all? You’ll like him, I think."

Lance wasn’t sure about that. He laughed and little and reached despondently for another pastry, shrugging. “I guess we’ll see.”

Hunk reached over the table to grab Lance's hand, squeezing their fingers tightly together as he caught Lance’s eyes and stared fierce and deep into them. "I _promise,_ no one was trying to replace you. Promise, Lance."

Lance honestly appreciated Hunk saying that, even if that was childish of him to need to hear it so explicitly. To deal with his immediate embarrassment, he laughed and said, "Gah, I'm gonna yak from the sentimentality, geez."

But Lance wasn't Pidge -- so he didn’t shy away from the affection or pull away. He only smiled a little to himself and kept a hold on Hunk’s hand. It made Hunk smile wider, and then squeeze a little tighter.

* * *

Since Lance was committed to being a delinquent son, the decision was made to wait for Hunk to get off his shift and then go out for dinner. It was kind of exciting; it felt like the more carefree days of yesteryears, when summer days were endless and unburdened, filled with time and space for finding meaningless distractions and making his inner demons easier to outrun. Truly, there was just something about being back in his hometown, sitting in their oldest favorite diner, watching the sun set fiery orange and red and yellow out the window, the jukebox playing old 50s and 60s hits.

“Been a while since we’ve come here,” Pidge commented airily, gnawing on a buffalo wing and looking around the place. This particular diner wasn’t part pub, so they’d been coming to it far longer than the other place where they’d had the welcome back get together. This diner was all shake and burger themed, and it didn’t card you. They’d been regular fixtures here since middle school years.

“It seriously has,” Hunk agreed, melting a little into the booth, obviously tired after his day at work. Lance was thankful that, despite that, Hunk was willing to entertain them. “Not since the last time it was the three of us.”

Lance snorted. “What, were you waiting for me to get back to come here?” He joked, picking up a mozzarella stick and pulling it apart to watch the cheese ooze out. That would be ludicrous, seeing how this was one of their favorite places, greasy and nostalgic and with arguably some of the best milkshakes the town had to offer. Even just passing through for a quick shake had to have happened in recent memory. ...Except Pidge was aggressively rolling her eyes, looking away as if that would hide the flush growing across her cheeks. And Hunk was nodding slightly while clearing his throat in a way that sounded like he was trying not to tear up.

Lance balked. “Wh-- _guys,_ come on. Seriously?”

“Not to make this a big deal,” Hunk hurried to say, wiping at his eyes with a napkin and clearing his throat some more. “Because I know it has to be awful for every single moment and joke you make to round back into sad overemotional junk, but. We did sort of swear the place off until you were back.

“It’s fair game now, though,” Pidge warned aggressively, flush fading as she got a handle on her emotions. “Now that we’ve come together, I _will_ be visiting for these babies whenever I want.” She held up a chicken wing and shook it menacingly.

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Lance said, smiling. Seriously, his friends were the best. “Alright, so hey, we’ve got time. Why don’t we talk about that big trip you were thinking about, Hunk -- ”

“Pidge? Hunk?”

Lance paused at the interruption from a gruff voice behind him. He recognized that voice faintly, and dread sank in his stomach as he slowly turned around to check who it was. And yep. It was Keith. There he was, staring at Lance, expression flat and going flatter. 

“Ah,” Keith said in monotone. “And Lance. _Right._”

...Okay, cool, kind of a jerk move, to say his name like that, but alright. To be fair, Lance had been less than charming himself back the last time they talked -- and then intentionally teasing at the hospital -- but he also _sort of_ felt like he had a good reason for that. 

Fair or not, good reasons or not, Lance couldn’t quite help feeling like he wanted to push back against the less than friendly overture. Snapping his fingers as if struck by inspiration, he rested his chin against the back of his seat and grinned up at Keith. “Oh hey, it’s that random stranger who was creeping on me in a park i.e. Keith i.e. Shiro’s cousin who’s weirdly been hanging out with my parents and my friends while I’ve been out of town and didn’t tell me he knew everybody in my life while creeping on me. In a park. At, like, one in the morning. ‘Sup, dude.” 

Okay, truth be told, ‘out of town’ was a very... general and possibly strange way to put why he’d been missing in action lately. But it was general enough to not freak out anybody at the table who was in the know. And it was a common enough turn of phrase that if Keith didn’t know anything (which he _shouldn’t_, but Lance hadn’t gotten around to checking if that was really the case) it didn’t give anything away.

Behind him, Lance could hear Hunk sigh wearily and Pidge make an intrigued _‘huh.’_ sound, which meant maybe his barb came off a little meaner than he really intended it to. But come on, it was right there, how weird it was that Keith had _probably_ known who he was the whole time Lance had been on the brink of passing out.

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed and his scent spiked a little in annoyance, carrots and topsoil somehow permeating the smell of frying oil that was hanging heavy in the air. “Uh. Okay. Hi? I guess? Feeling better?”

Lance waved a demonstrative hand. “You have a nose, as you so skillfully proved the other night. You tell me.”

Keith’s eyebrows lowered somehow miraculously further, mouth an annoyed, grim line. “I mean. Yeah, I’m feeling considerably less accosted by the smell of stewed cherries. So I figure you _are,_ but I thought it’d be kinda rude to lead with that.”

Lance -- okay, _had_ literally just invited Keith to talk about scents, so couldn’t exactly be mad that Keith actually went for it. But he still felt his face heat up with annoyance and embarrassment. Because even so, you didn’t really talk scent specifics with people you didn’t know. You kept it general -- everyone knew that. Veronica’s prickly girlfriend who barely tolerated anyone, least of all Lance, knew that. Kids in elementary school knew that.

“Wow, fresh,” Lance shot back, grinning wider yet more aggressively, his heartbeat picking up and his face feeling hotter with each passing second. “Are we doing tit for tat? Because if you want me to start hurling insults about your vegetable garden smelling ass, I can totally do that for you -- ”

“Annnnnd scene,” Pidge cut in, leaning over the table to grab the back of Lance’s shirt and pulling him back. “What a terrible first real conversation you two, good job.” Safely avoiding Lance’s flailing arms by returning to her side of the table, Pidge only offered up a calm nod and said, “Hey, Keith.”

Lance sat down the right way in the booth with a thump and rolled his eyes, mostly out of discomfort. He hadn’t expected his joke to get things amped up so quickly -- and that was his own fault, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also a little bit justified in being aggravated. “He’s the one who said -- ”

“So, how’s your evening going, Keith?” Hunk asked pleasantly, ignoring the evil eye Lance shot at him. “Grabbing some food? Been to this place before? We should have brought you here at some point honestly, but stuff came up.”

At this, Lance’s stink eye became more subdued. He knew that he was ‘stuff’, considering how Pidge and Hunk had admitted to not wanting to come here without him. It felt like it kind of confirmed what Lance was already partway sure of: that Keith didn’t know details about Lance’s summer away. That meant, outside of his family and main friends, Lotor was the only outsider to know -- which had been the case since even before he’d become part of a triad with Shiro and Allura. And that was only because Lotor was nosy and occasionally underhanded and had followed Allura to the hospital one of the times she’d visited Lance back in early summer, before Lance had been shipped out for treatment.

(Allura had only realized right outside the door that Lotor was tailing her, and had yelled at him so loudly that Lance had known about it right away. But Lotor had been pretty discrete over the matter so far, which Lance suspected was because he just didn’t care.)

Keith, unaware of any of the subtext going on here, merely shrugged, and easily answered Hunk’s question. “No, I’ve been here before. I’m picking up something to microwave later for mid-shift. No offense to Shiro, but I can’t make it through the night on salads and trail mix alone.”

Pidge grimaced, picking up a new chicken wing, sucking some of the sauce off one of her thumbs. “Oh god, is he really feeding you rabbit food? You’re already up in the dead of the night! Eat a steak, get some Taco Bell, snort powdered sugar off a funnel cake -- no one’s up to witness and judge you.”

Any remaining ire and discomfort visibly left Keith as he blinked at Pidge, mouth slightly parted. “Snort powdered -- what was that last thing?”

As Pidge launched into teasing Keith, Lance realized Hunk was looking at him with a certain kind of look. It was a look saying, _This is your chance to say something chill, so please say something chill._ And -- Lance hadn’t wanted to set precedence for him and Keith to be prone to bickering after only talking two and a half times (if winking at someone passive aggressively could count as a half of a time). It had just... happened. Naturally, like they were already well-suited to pick at each other, despite not knowing one another. Though... Lance reminded himself that Keith really had helped him, _and_ had brought back Lance’s bike. So he really did need to thank the guy -- he was just embarrassed about it. And then taken aback, just now, at how guns blazing Keith apparently was when it came to retorts.

(Though, as he watched Pidge gently bully Keith, he wondered if that last takeaway was all that correct. To be fair, it was Pidge, and she was very good at gently bullying people she liked.)

With a sigh, Lance tried offering an olive branch. “Hey, so, night shift? That sounds interesting. What do you do?” Lance’s parents had mentioned something about a job, hadn’t they?

Keith squinted at him suspiciously, looking a mix of annoyed and genuinely uncomfortable, which had a really interesting effect on his expression -- it was almost kind of cute. The actual defensiveness of it all was less cute though, and Lance groaned. “Oh, come on, it’s a straightforward question! I’m really asking.” Keith eyed him, still apprehensive. Geez, why was he having to wheedle an answer out of this guy? “_Look,_ I just don’t know anything about you, so I’m _trying_ to be -- ”

“Security guard,” Keith finally cut in, soft but with firm purpose. He crossed his arms across his chest. “For right now, I’m a security guard. I survey and patrol a couple of places.” He looked at Lance challengingly.

And Lance, who didn’t have a job, who had a few family members who worked service jobs, knew that look. It was a dare, a challenge, a _say something about it, if you’re gonna; make whatever stupid joke you’re sitting on, so I can get started with tearing you a new one_ kind of look. And that... that, Lance liked.

“Cool,” Lance said simply, trying to convey that he didn’t think it was a big deal that Keith didn’t have a big fancy job. “I have an uncle who works night shifts, too -- they’re pretty rough. I’ve heard it permanently alters your circadian rhythms, but I think too much international travel does too, so...”

Keith looked unsure for a moment. Like Lance’s response being _not_ teasing was more confusing, and therefore almost worse. But eventually, unsteadily, carefully, he said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information.”

Oh? Finding someone who could take the bait and bite back, but then also could admit when they were lost in the weeds of a conversation was pretty rare. Lance liked that, too. “Nothing, I guess,” Lance volunteered breezily. “Just thought I’d share.” 

Across from him, Hunk was shaking his head -- and Lance recognized that head shake. He thought Lance was flirting. And okay, he halfway was, but those tactics were working better than the play fighting methods he used among people who already knew him. At least the atmosphere had cooled off again: Pidge was choosing her next chicken wing in delight, Hunk _was_ smiling to himself, even if it was a _Well, what can you do_ smile, and Keith was looking less standoffish and more on the brink of the barest of smiles himself. Lance was a little out of practice with people-ing, but this seemed pretty good.

“Yeah,” Keith said softly, uncrossing his arms and letting them hang relaxed by his side. “Well, thanks for sharing, I guess. Something to ponder on during my shift, or something. Which, speaking of, I gotta...” He held up his to-go back, indicating how he had to get going.

“Ah, yeah, don’t let us hold you up,” Hunk said, waving already. “Be careful, stay safe, and drink tea a half hour before your shift ends. I swear it’ll help you start relaxing so you can fall asleep faster once you’re home.”

“Bye Keith,” Pidge trilled out, half a chicken wing dangling out her mouth. “Let me know if I should fuss at Shiro, or just get Allura to do it.”

Lance settled for a wordless wave, partially because he’d already said enough and didn’t want to accidentally sour the mood, and partially because Keith was starting to look a little overwhelmed in that understated way of his. Lance was starting to get that Keith’s way of emoting looked a certain way that was foreign and new but learnable. And that was interesting, in its own way.

As Keith left with little fanfare, Lance ignored both of his friends’ meaningful glances that lingered on him. It was obvious they wanted to talk about what had just happened, but there were more important things to discuss -- and it wasn’t like he had any idea what was going on with him and Keith, anyway. “Right, cool, so are we actually going to plan a big trip or was that all lip service?”

“...Huh,” Pidge said, stroking her chin and eyeing Lance with far too much interest, waving a chicken wing at him authoritatively. “Okay, I’ll allow the topic of you and Keith being absolutely bizarre -- at each other’s throats one second and then completely fine the next -- to pass just this one time.” She took a bite of chicken wing, and then with narrowed eyes and full mouth, said, “But this is it for you, buddy. Do it again, and I start asking questions.”

“I’m just glad you made a new friend... I think,” Hunk said, stirring his drink with its straw and shaking his head like Lance was unbelievable or something. “But anyway! No, the trip was definitely not just lip service. I want to go somewhere! ...Though, are we really committing to road tripping? Because I hate that, and I know you both know it.”

Lance -- grateful to his friends for their understanding and their leniency, for their senses of humor and their ability to rein in a brewing miscommunication for his own good -- smiled, and began to randomly chime in traitorously on both sides as Pidge and Hunk argued over the parameters that set a road trip apart from a long drive. It was their exact brand of messing around, and it had been sorely missed while he’d been away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I can’t believe it’s taken me this many thousands of words to mention lance essentially smells like cherry pie. it was, like, the first scent I came up with. anyway, now you know!))


End file.
